


where my demons hide

by vellichorvirgo



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Affection, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Memory Loss, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vellichorvirgo/pseuds/vellichorvirgo
Summary: Before he knew it he had reached the shop, was throwing the door open, frantically calling out Leda’s name, preparing himself for whatever state he might find her in—And screeching to a halt at what he found instead.Blood.——Asra comes home to a hurt apprentice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ trigger warning: self-harm/injury, blood ]
> 
> featuring my apprentice, leda. set about 2 years before the arcana.

_ Friend! _

Asra, taken aback by the sudden voice of his familiar in his head, turned from the vegetables he had been perusing. “Faust?” 

He hadn’t expected her here. After all, she hadn’t accompanied him on his quest to the market for groceries; he’d left her behind at the shop with Leda. Although Asra was aware Leda was capable enough of looking after herself and running the shop without him—after all, it had been nearly a year since her return—it soothed his anxiety to have Faust with her when he couldn’t be, especially when he knew it reassured Leda as well. 

“What are you doing here, Faust?” he asked, bending down so Faust could wind her way up his arm. “You’re supposed to be with Leda—”

_ Friend,  _ Faust interrupted insistently. There was something frantic in her red eyes, in the flicker of her tongue.  _ Friend hurt! _

“ _ Hurt _ ?” 

The word had panic clawing its way up Asra’s throat in a split second. Memories crowded into his head, one layered atop another atop another, all of the same image:  _ Leda, hysterical, crumpled against the wall, tearing at her hair, blood trickling from her nose as she keened and wailed from the pain hammering in her head… _

And then, swelling like a raging tide before he could push them back, even more terrifying memories:  _ Leda, catatonic and so, so still, eyes staring blankly, unknowingly, unfeelingly into empty space, showing no reaction to anything around her. A hollow shell of a person; a husk with no vitality, no spirit inside of her— _

Asra’s feet had taken off before he even realized what he was doing—barging through the crowded marketplace with his satchel slapping against his leg, just barely managing to keep from running headlong into passersby, any and all thoughts of grocery shopping having fled his mind the moment Faust said  _ hurt.  _

_ No, no, no, no, not again, not again, not again— _

Before he knew it he had reached the shop, was throwing the door open, frantically calling out Leda’s name, preparing himself for whatever state he might find her in—

And screeching to a halt at what he found instead. 

Blood. 

A splatter of blood, still spreading across the floor just a few steps away from where Asra stood. Beside it lay a small knife from their own kitchen, the edge of the blade gleaming red. 

His gaze lifted, finding more smudges of blood beyond the first splatter. Smaller spots, forming an unsteady path across the shop floor. 

Horrified shock numbed Asra from head to toe, freezing him where he stood as his brain struggled to process what he was seeing, what this meant. Distantly, he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“Leda?” he called weakly, voice wavering.

Silence hummed through the shop in answer. 

Fresh panic bloomed in his chest, cutting through the fog of his shock. “ _ Leda! _ ” he shouted, rushing into the shop to follow the trail of blood cutting across the floor to the stairs that led up to their living space. There was a bloody handprint on the wall beside the stairs, as if from a desperate, dizzy attempt at steadying oneself. The slender shape of the fingers looked uncannily like Leda’s own. Asra’s stomach clenched. 

_ Please, please, please— _

When he burst into their living space, he found it...empty. 

Everything was just how he’d left it—the bed unmade, strewn with a mess of pillows and blankets; the salamander humming softly in the stove; the scent of tea still hanging in the air. Save for a few more scattered drops of blood on the floor, no longer forming a clear trail. Asra’s heartbeat stuttered as he rocked to a stop. 

“Leda? Leda, where are you?!” 

The silence felt like a fist closing around his throat. 

Faust—in his panic, Asra had nearly forgotten she was here—slithered from his shoulder to the floor. She began to slip towards the corner of the room where the closet was, an almost-hidden space rarely ventured into by either magician except to store items that were all but useless.

Asra followed his familiar to the corner, and there he found her.

Her back was to him, bowed, her slender shoulders shuddering from the force of her grating, gasping sobs, each one sounding like it tore its way out from behind gritted teeth. She was talking, too, assumedly to herself, fear and frustration and pain clear in each desperate, frantic whisper: “Come on, come on, come  _ on _ —”

“Leda?”

She jolted, head jerking up to stare at him. Her green-blue eyes were wide with shock, tears carving their way down her delicate face, mouth trembling. But Asra barely noticed any of that. His focus had snapped to her hand, wrapped so tightly around the wrist of her other hand that her knuckles had whitened. Both hand and wrist were covered in so much blood he couldn’t immediately tell which was wounded, although logic told him it was the wrist. 

“Oh my god,  _ Leda. _ ” He dropped to his knees beside her, grabbing for her wrist. ”What happened?” 

She flinched back from him, light flashing off the gold of her septum ring with the sudden, sharp movement. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, another sob choking its way out of her. 

Alarm bells went off in Asra’s head. As skittish and fragile as Leda had become since her resurrection, her memory loss, she was not the type to hide and fall to pieces when injured. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Asra forced himself to still, resisting every voice screaming in his head to help her, heal her, hold her. Forced down the panic roaring through him enough to soften his voice to a reassuring murmur. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I just want to see where you’re hurt.” 

Instead of relaxing, Leda shrank further back from him, her face crumpling as she began to sob in earnest. It took a moment for Asra to realize she was speaking in between her weeping; another moment to make out what she was saying.

“I’m sorry, Master, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, I swear I wouldn’t—I didn’t—” 

_ What? _

Confusion gave way to a sudden, nauseating realization. Asra’s blood chilled. 

_ Is she—did she _ —

“I didn’t mean to, Master, I promise. My hand slipped...I tried healing it but it wouldn’t work, there was just so much blood, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—” 

_ No no no no no— _

_ One thing at a time.  _ With effort, Asra forced his attention from the horrifying implication of Leda’s words, forced himself to focus on the moment at hand. Leda was hurt—that took priority over everything else. Judging by the amount of blood downstairs, she’d already lost quite a lot. When he glanced at her face, the pale brown tone of her skin had gone ashen under the red flush from her tears. 

Leda was still rambling as she wept, and Asra could hear the sharp edge of hysteria in her voice now; she was spiralling. He hadn’t seen her like this in so long, not since she’d learned how to control her fits and headaches. Not since she’d learned how to be a  _ person  _ again. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, with an evenness he didn’t feel, pitching his voice low as though he were calming a spooked animal. “Look at me, Leda. Look at me.” 

Slowly, she raised her eyes to his. The look in them— _ lost, scared, ashamed _ —cracked his heart ( _ what was left of it, anyway _ ) in two. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Ssh. It’s okay. Just look at me.” 

Silence settled between them, broken by the jerky, uneven sounds of Leda’s sobbing breaths. She focused on his face, gaze dazedly wandering his features, and slowly, he watched her eyes clear as the hysteria faded from them. 

He didn’t know why that simple instruction,  _ look at me,  _ always seemed to calm her down, even when almost nothing else seemed to work. Maybe some part of her remembered...no. He couldn’t let himself dwell on that, hope for that. Especially not now. 

“You’re okay,” he said softly. A breath shuddered past her lips, another tear spilling down her cheek, but her frantic sobbing had stopped and the tight set of her shoulders had relaxed slightly. Deciding it would be safe to try again, Asra reached his hand towards her and asked, “Can I see where you’re hurt?” 

Leda eyed him for another long moment ( _ what he would give to know what was going through her head in these moments, to know how to comfort her properly _ ) before giving him a tiny nod.

Carefully, Asra drew close to her until their sides brushed. Ever so gently, as though she were made of glass ( _ with the state she was in now, she might as well have been _ ), he touched her hand, prying her bloody fingers free from their vise-like grip around her wrist. 

He inhaled sharply when the wound came into view—he couldn’t help it. It was a vertical slice across her skin, deeper but cleaner than he’d expected, gushing blood down Leda’s arm. 

_ The idea of  _ her  _ doing that— _

“I was trying to heal it.” The quiet rasp of Leda’s voice startled him. When he glanced at her, she was staring steadfastly at the cut, as though she were trying to avoid his eyes. At some point—he hadn’t noticed when—Faust had wound her way around Leda’s shoulders, and was now wrapped around her with her head resting in the crook of Leda’s neck. Trying to provide what comfort she could. “Before you got back. I…” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t want to scare you.” 

Asra was silent, sorting through the thoughts that rose up in response to that statement—ranging from  _ well, you failed at that,  _ to  _ so you tried to hide this from me?  _ None of them seemed appropriate, so all he said was, his voice sounding faraway to his own ears, “It’s harder to heal yourself. The pain saps your magic.” 

Leda’s eyes flickered briefly to his face, and something knowing flashed across her expression. Could she tell how shaken he was, underneath his smooth, careful words? Could she tell how he felt like everything inside him was crumbling? 

_ I did this to you, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry— _

_ Not now, Asra, not now. _

Shaking his head as if that would clear away the raw ache building in his chest, Asra reached out to lay two careful fingers on the cut, apologizing profusely when the touch made Leda hiss. His magic whispered through his skin to hers, swirling around the injury. Leda made a soft sound as her skin began knitting back together; whether it was in pain or relief Asra wasn’t sure, but he reached for her free hand anyway. The blood on her fingers was sticky between his own, but he ignored it and squeezed her hand. 

Something like relief pulsed through him when she squeezed back.

They watched the sparks of Asra’s magic playing over Leda’s wrist until they faded away, leaving a line darker than the colour of her skin behind. Frowning, Asra rubbed his thumb gently over the mark, trying to coax his magic out again. 

But no matter how he tried, the scar remained.

“Come on,” he said softly, at last. Gently, he slipped his arms around her, scooping her into his arms like she weighed nothing at all. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra and Leda have a bathtime therapy session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter didn't quite feel finished to me, so here's a conclusion from leda's pov.

He carried her to the bathroom, arms secure and unwavering around her. Leda all but melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, face hidden in the crook of his neck. She felt his lips press to the crown of her head, and something raging inside her calmed a little more. 

She would never be able to explain the feeling Asra gave her. Had always given her, from the moment she opened her eyes a year ago, a gaping chasm in place of her memories, and saw his face. She cycled through words again in a vain attempt to describe it— _ reassurance, safety, solace _ —even though she knew none came close. 

It was the feeling that nothing bad could happen to her as long as she had him. The feeling that if he was with her, she’d always be okay, no matter what. Even when her world was collapsing around her; even when she felt one breath away from shattering into a million pieces. Even if she didn’t know who she was. 

Even now, with a phantom whisper of pain lingering in her wrist where his magic couldn’t quite reach, her skin smeared with her own drying blood. 

Leda felt Asra pause, hesitation humming through his body. She lifted her head from his neck, peering out to find them in the bathroom, just before Asra’s hold on her began to loosen. Reflexively she clutched his shirt tighter, a bolt of irrational panic streaking through her. 

_ Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t— _

“Ssh, it’s alright,” Asra soothed. “I’m right here. I’m just going to put you down for a second, okay? Just while I run the bath.”

Colour bloomed slowly back into her knuckles as she loosened and then released her hold, allowing Asra to place her down on the bathroom counter. He watched her for a long moment, deep violet eyes wary, worried, as they scanned her. 

_ I did this, I made him look like this, it’s all my fault— _

For a moment Leda thought he would scoop her back into his arms—he certainly looked like he wanted to.  _ Does he think I’ll disappear if he lets go of me? _ But then, appearing to reach some kind of conclusion, he turned away. 

The small room filled with the soft rushing sound of water filling the tub, and Leda, staring at the dark scar on her wrist left behind by Asra’s magic, let her mind drift. 

She’d never meant for it to get to this point; never meant for Asra to even find out. It had started small. She would be coming down from the throes of an awful headache, pain still echoing inside her skull, the memories she’d almost grasped floating maddeningly out of reach. And before she realized it, her hand would creep up into her hair and pull, and for a moment the stinging in her scalp would overwhelm the storm swirling in her head just enough for her to  _ breathe _ . 

Or, she would be alone in the shop, Asra having stepped out for whatever cryptic reason he gave her, anxiety growing in bilious clouds with every customer who approached her, every minute Asra wasn’t there. And before she realized it, her fingers would curl inwards until her nails bit into skin, and for a moment the sharp pricking in her palm would bring the world back into focus. 

Or, she would be in the midst of slicing vegetables for dinner when that raw, never-healing wound inside of her would start bleeding again; when the voices of the demons that whispered  _ stupid, useless, worthless, burden, things would be better off without you, what are you except a ghost haunting your way through life? How do you even know that you’re real?  _ became screams that drowned out even her own heartbeat. 

And before she realized it, she was pressing the blade of the knife to her skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Just enough to feel the sting. And for a moment, the voices would fall quiet. 

“ _ Leda _ .” 

She looked up, startled, into Asra’s tense face, worry written all over his expression. She got the impression that it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. 

Asra’s expression shifted; for a split second, he looked as though he were on the verge of tears. But then she blinked, and he looked as composed as ever—save for that pain that had been lingering in the depths of his eyes ever since he’d found her. 

The realization that she’d hurt him was enough to draw fresh tears to Leda’s eyes.  _ I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry— _

“Hey,” Asra said, catching her attention the second she felt the tears blurring her sight. His hand reached out to cup her face, thumb stroking over her cheek; Leda’s eyelids shuttered at the touch. When she opened them again, her vision was no longer swimming.

“You’re okay,” Asra murmured for what felt like the millionth time, and even though they both knew she was anything but, Leda nodded. 

_ If you’re here, I will be.  _

Asra surveyed her for a moment more before his attention shifted, his hand dropping from her face to deal with her clothes. He undressed her gently yet deftly, then picked her back up and turned towards the tub. 

A sigh burst from Leda as he placed her in the water, its warmth enveloping her tense body, her dark hair floating around her like clouds of ink. Asra allowed her to relish in the feeling for a moment before reaching out, drawing her formerly-injured wrist towards him. That was when Leda realized just how much blood was actually on her—not just around where the cut had been and on the palm she’d held over it, but everywhere else she must have touched with that bloody hand. Both arms. Her knee. Further down her leg. Her cheek, from the feel of it. 

Asra’s white shirt. His neck, his shoulder, his hands. Guilt swelled inside her. 

Neither of them spoke as Asra washed her clean, soapy hands moving with near-unbearable gentleness over her bloodied skin. Now Leda could see how unsettled he was, the tension lining every part of his body; could practically see the words he was bursting to say, holding them back only for her sake.

When the water around her had tinted pink, Leda broke the silence—for his sake. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

Asra’s jaw worked as he scrubbed at her leg. After a moment he replied, “What? For me to find out?”

Although his voice held no harshness, Leda still flinched. “No—well, yes, that too… I—I just—” Her voice shrank, gaze dropping to her knees. “I didn’t want you to think it was your fault.” 

His hand went still on her leg. 

“Because it isn’t,” she continued quickly. “Your fault, I mean. And I knew you would blame yourself if you knew.” She peeked up at him then; his expression was unreadable, but she still had an idea of what he was feeling. “Like you are right now.” 

“Leda...”

“It was only supposed to be a little cut—barely enough to bleed. But my hand slipped and—well, you know.” He’d surely seen the scene of the crime, the splatters of blood she’d left behind in the shop from her failed attempts to staunch the bleeding; from her shocked stumble upstairs. 

Asra was quiet for a long moment, his hands resuming their gentle movements over her body. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and pained. 

“How many times have you done this before?”

“I...I don’t know. I always healed them over afterwards. Not  _ many _ ,” she added hastily when Asra looked stricken, his violet eyes going wide. “It’s only when I feel really...” She paused, thought, and for lack of a better word finished, “bad.”

Asra’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean,  _ bad _ ?”

“Anxious. Upset. Or sometimes… sometimes...” 

Fresh concern flared in Asra’s eyes at her hesitation. “Leda?”

She lowered her head, gaze dropping to watch the floating ends of her hair. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t feel like I’m real.”

There it was, the secret she had been holding in for the last year, out in the open.

Asra was silent. 

Leda continued, voice growing smaller and smaller, “I don’t have any memories. I’ve been alive for twenty years but everything in this world is brand-new. I don’t know who I am or what I’ve done or what  _ happened  _ to make me this way.” A cold tear dripped down her cheek, into the bathwater. “Sometimes I think I’m just… I don’t know. A ghost. A dream. Someone else’s memory.” She couldn’t help a bitter laugh at the irony of  _ that _ . “The pain helps me remember I exist.”

Suddenly she found her face cupped between Asra’s hands, tilted up towards him. Her pulse tripped at the look in his eyes as they fixed onto hers—dark and intense enough to swallow her whole. 

“Listen to me,” he said, in the firmest voice she’d ever heard from him. “You are real. You are not a dream, or a memory, or a ghost.” Was it her imagination, or did his mouth tremble a bit at the end? “You are flesh and blood and heartbeat. You are as real as I am, as real as anybody else. You are  _ real _ , Leda, and you do not need to hurt yourself to prove it.”

“I know. I know, I just...” 

Her voice gave out, and Asra’s face softened. “Come here.” 

Wrapping her up in a towel, he lifted her out of the bath and dried her before carrying her back into the apartment. Once she was in clean clothes, she found herself suddenly swamped with exhaustion; the stress of the last hour had taken its toll on her. 

Asra, ever observant, coaxed her into bed to rest. He pulled the covers securely around her, then leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead. When he tried to pull away, Leda snatched at his wrist, holding him in place. 

She didn’t have to say anything; he slipped in beside her without hesitation.

“We’ll talk about this more after you’ve rested,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. His touch had Leda’s heart thrilling, despite herself, despite everything. “But you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to hide, or be ashamed. Anything you want, anything you need…” 

His fingers brushed down the line of her jaw, lingering underneath her chin, like he didn’t want to let go of her. “I’m here for you. Always. Don’t forget that.” 

Leda nuzzled against his shoulder, letting the smoky, achingly familiar scent of him twine through her, and shut her eyes as she breathed, “I would never.”


End file.
